


closer to me

by kilaem



Category: GreedFall (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Facial Shaving, Idiots in Love, Mutual Pining, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, it's about the yearning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-30
Updated: 2019-10-30
Packaged: 2021-01-13 00:09:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21234866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kilaem/pseuds/kilaem
Summary: Kurt's been working up the courage to confess his feelings. It doesnt go as planned.or,Kurt hasn't had the time to shave in a while. Evelyn De Sardet helps him out.





	closer to me

**Author's Note:**

> i had to scroll to find who started this on the Greedfallen Discord. morgan it's on you, you magnificent human.

The campfire is a welcome warmth against the chill of the night as he keeps watch. It isn’t so much a task that’s _ necessary_, but it is ingrained into his core, and welcomed by the others. Just because _ he _ is a light sleeper does not mean they are and could easily spring into action if trouble should find them. Caught somewhere between Dorgred and Vedrad, they've been in the wilds now for too long a stretch, but that is often the way of De Sardet’s world. So often are they pulled and guided by the demands of her title as Legate, and so often are they ready to follow her even without it’s lead—as they are now for Síora. 

He has said it before, that she is the friend everyone dreams of having. And how right he was, as she once again goes out of her way for the people she’s let into her heart. She needs a real bed, a proper hot bath, to return to some normalcy in her life—hellfire, they all do; though she fares it without complaint. He may tease and call her a dainty, but she is more resilient than more than half the guard he knows. And yet even still, despite his protests, Evelyn De Sardet sits awake on her bedroll, absentmindedly combing her fingers through her damp and drying hair. 

He can’t stop himself as he lets his eyes drift over to Evelyn now, as they have been doing for the past several weeks without much care for decorum. He anticipates the sudden tightness in his chest and the difficulty to swallow around the lump in his throat, but that doesn’t make it any easier to combat. The firelight licks across her exposed skin, rich and ochre, and her eyes are like whiskey—and far, _ far _more intoxicating than any drink Kurt has ever had. Some days, on nights such as these, quiet and alone together out of their armour, he can hardly believe she’s real when she looks like something plucked straight out of his dreams. 

But she’s been quieter as of late. 

Oh, she’ll smile and joke with the others, certainly. But Kurt knows Evelyn, has known her for nearing a decade. She withdraws into herself and refuses to let another carry her burdens alongside her—which even he himself is selfishly guilty of adding to, he knows. Yet this is the one thing he cannot protect her from, as his duty is want, as the weight on her shoulders grows heavier with each passing second; first the revelations of her birth, then the sudden blow of Constantin’s illness, the coup, amongst all the other things that did not give her a moment to breathe before striking. 

And there is nothing he can do but watch as it slowly crushes her. 

While the others sleep, Kurt could almost let himself believe they were the only two souls in existence under the intensity of her stare; her eyes are glued to the flames, face twisted in a pensive melancholy as the world continues to move around them. It speaks volumes to him, that she will allow him to see this side of her. Does she even realise she’s doing it, showing herself unfettered of her position? Or is he such a constant in her life that he is simply background noise, like the wind rustling the trees and the wood crackling in the heat of the flames? 

They haven’t spoken much since dealing with Herman. Kurt knows he only has himself to blame for their sudden chasm of distance; since the quiet admittance of _ possibility_, every time he tries to think of something to say, a fear grips his spine and he becomes a silent coward. Every time he thinks of her words, he finds himself unable to speak the words of _ more _ into fruition. It’s a new feeling entirely, to be so wrong-footed in her presence. In fact, it has become his constant companion as of late, now that there is nothing that should hold him back except for his own doubts and fears. 

But this is a feeling that has lingered for far too long. He doesn't know when this awful forsaken _ longing _ buried its roots deep inside him, and the worst part—the worst part is that he doesn't know if he would stop it if he did.

All he knows is that he cannot bear to see that mournful look etched upon her face. He cannot remove it entirely, but he can surely pull her out of her own head. 

“Green Blood.”

Evelyn snaps to attention, her eyes pulled sharp as she meets his gaze. But her careful mask does not come back down, as he feared it would. _ She trusts you_, the traitorous voice whispers in the back of his mind, _ you heard what she said. _

“Kurt,” she nods, a soft smile gracing the corner of her lips.

“I wanted to—I know I...”

He loses his words in the face of that smile. 

_ Such a fool_. 

Clearing his throat, he shifts his eyes away from her and onto the judgemental pop of the campfire. “It’s come to my attention that I've neglected parts of your training.” 

“Whatever happened to ‘unless you start weight training, I’ve taught you all I can’?” she drops her voice as she imitates his words, but the smile in them is evident. 

“Mock all you want, Green Blood, but I stand by those words,” Kurt says lowly, but he can’t stop himself from the quick smirk and the obvious bait she’s left for him, “we wouldn’t want you to break those dainty arms now, would we?”

Evelyn splutters and laughs, quiet and private between just the two of them before her eyes fall on their companions, fondly tracing each one as they sleep. Her gaze eventually finds its way to Síora, and her expression turns serious once more, before she turns back on him. 

“Really, Kurt, what is it?”

"Don’t make that face, it’s not nearly so drastic,” he sighs, shaking his head. He should’ve known she would see right through him, “I don't mean to worry you. I realised there's blade you haven't perfected yet, that’s all. But it can wait."

“Oh?” she asks, raising a singular eyebrow. 

_ This is the stupidest thing you’ve ever come up with_. He frowns as he scratches at his jaw, his nails dragging through his scruffy beard as he desperately thinks. _ You’re thirty five and you can’t even tell a decent lie_. 

Kurt hesitantly flicks his eyes in her direction, and finds her studying him thoughtfully, as if he was an equation the old goat had given her. She opens her mouth and closes it just as fast, a curious and disbelieving expression passing over her before she haltingly continues, “you want me to… help you shave?”

_ What? _

“What?” 

"You haven't had the chance to shave since we've not been able to return home," she says, considering, "its longer than you usually let it get, even by travel standards."

"No, that—"

“Are you too proud of a warrior to ask for my help, Kurt?” she pounces with a grin. It's a wide and beautiful thing in her delight, much like a cat who caught the canary. 

And it is something far too dangerous for his own good.

_ Take the way out, you fool. Or _ ** _tell _ ** _ her. _

“Something like that,” he manages instead. He tries to chuckle, but it comes out an awkward huff. 

Kurt’s heart races as she counters, “I've seen you shave before.”

He's grateful the others are asleep. His mortification is entirely of his own making, and she is the only person to witness it now._ She will never let you live this down. _

“It's… difficult, without a mirror,” he wearily admits. That much was true at least. 

“And we have no idea when we'll get back to New Sérène or one of the other cities,” Evelyn finishes with a sigh.

“You don't have to,” he says quietly, and much too quickly as she stands, “I don’t mind leaving it until we get back.”

She sits on her knees beside him, and he feels like a bug pinned under her gaze as her eyes dart across his face. “As much as I would love to see that, we have your dignity to preserve.”

“Is that so?” Kurt scoffs, leaning back in disbelief. 

“Yes, of course,” she blinks innocently. As if struck by a magic she doesn’t wield, he’s immobilised as she reaches out. Her slender fingers gently brushing so near to his lips, and down across the scar on his chin, hidden now beneath the steady layer of growth. And then she smiles wickedly, the spell broken, “or else soon you’ll start looking like our dear Petrus.” 

_ Oh_. 

“That’s low, even for you,” he pushes her hand away from his greying patches as she laughs.

He can’t help but smile with her, fondly shaking his head with a roll of his eyes.

“Well,” she prompts, "are we going to sit here the entire night or are you going to force my hand?” 

“I doubt I could force you to do anything if you didn’t truly wish it,” he drones.

“Humour me, Kurt.”

“As my Lady commands,” he softly murmurs.

Kurt pretends he doesn’t notice the flush to her cheeks as he turns away. Whether to shield her lack of composure or his own, he doesn’t think too hard on. But the knowledge that _ he _is it’s cause sends a quiet thrill of warmth through him, and he spends too long digging through his pack as he wills the heat of his own cheeks to fade. 

That will definitely get harder to hide without a beard. 

Kurt pulls the kit free and open and reaches for his waterskin before finding the strength to turn back to her. 

In the warm glow of the fire, her smile has dropped to something else, something that is achingly soft and vulnerable. His heart flutters and it’s difficult to find a reason to look away as he has done for so long. 

He could get lost in this moment. 

But the shift in her demeanor is immediate as she lays eyes on the straight razor. Her brow dips and her shoulders straighten, and there’s an obvious bob in her throat as she swallows. She could remain stone faced, as she so must often remain in the face of the court, and yet she chooses not to—_why, _ he asks himself, _ why? _

Some odd mixture of fear and hesitation plays out on her face and her voice is low, faltering and uncertain, “you would truly put your life in my hands like that?”

His immediate gut response is _ yes, I would_. _ With my whole heart, a thousand times over_. He would bear his throat to her as often as she commanded, if she was wielding the blade. But he cannot find the strength to speak those tender and damning words, not when her doubt sends a wave of bewilderment through him. 

And so he cannot help his small noise of incredulity. _ She must know, surely she must_. 

“I willing do so every day, Green Blood. We all do.”

“Don't deflect, Kurt,” she says as she shakes her head, “this is far different from having your back in a fight.”

“Is this what's been running through your head lately?" Kurt can’t help but demand, and her expression shutters as her mask comes back down. 

“No, of course not,” she tries, but even under her hurried attempts of detachment it falls flat. 

Guilt coils through him at her cracking façade of polite indifference. This is not something he can barge his way through, as is so often required of him. It required delicacy. Softness. Everything she is and everything he is not. His upper lip curls in self-contempt as another more accustomed thought comes unbidden and insidious, _ in what world could you deserve someone like her? _

But this is not about him. 

Kurt watches her as he thinks carefully. She would not accept it, that much he knew, but it was still worth saying. Even if she didn’t believe it, she needed to hear it.

“You don't have to shoulder these things alone, you know.”

“Yes, I do,” she sighs, and a sad smile makes its home on her face as she shrugs, unable to meet his eyes. 

“Green Blood?” He starts, ducking his head in a futile attempt to catch her gaze. “Evelyn.”

_ Green Blood _ is his safety, is fondness and friendship. But _ Evelyn _ is intimate, is the genuine promise of trust—but _ now _it feels like it is the whisper of hidden desire on his lips, and it burns his lungs to breathe it into life. He can count on his hands the number of times he’s said her name since he was brought on as their master of arms; it in itself is a breach of propriety and formality that was only ever born of last resorts. It was something too familiar, and something they both always treated with the utmost of severity should he find cause to use it. 

The use of her name has it’s intended effect as she looks up at him. 

“Do you honestly think any of us would be here if we didn’t believe in you?”

“Kurt—”

“_I _ wouldn’t be here, if it weren’t for you.” 

The significance is not lost on her. 

He has never seen her at a loss for words, but he has seen the wretched expression of heartbreak on her face only once before—and never in his life would he have considered himself on the same scale as her cousin’s rapidly dwindling health. 

It is not the cold wind that makes him shift closer to the fire but the following silence that sits heavy on his shoulders, broken only by the sounds of the night and their camp. He cannot tear his eyes from her, even as she turns her eyes back to the safety of the flames.

“I should have left you to your thoughts,” Kurt quietly apologises, “I fear I’ve ruined what was otherwise a pleasant night.” 

“Kurt, please believe me when I say you’ve done no such thing,” she argues as her piercing gaze falls on him once more, “my apprehension caused this.” 

It’s an odd comfort to have this side of her be his return of equilibrium, yet he would not change it for the world. It’s not quite normal, but it is a road back to it. And he is not willing to let it slip out of his grasp this time. 

“If you make a mistake, you’ve got healing magic,” he tries, offering the kit to her once more. She eyes it warily, and he fights the urge to smile at the suspicious crinkle of her nose. “I've never known you to be one to shy away from a challenge, your Excellency.”

The use of her title between the two of them has never been predictable; courtly and _ proper _ and tinged with expectation, and something she has always hated from him. Depending on his tone, _ your Excellency _ is a dare as much as it is a reminder of status—and in the face of this dare, her mouth drops open and she lets out an offended scoff, tinged with the breathy stutter of laughter. 

She has never been able to resist and they both know it. 

“You're a cruel man, Kurt,” she teases, tucking a lock of her hair behind her ear before she reaches for the razor.

“I never said I wasn't,” his words of _ cold hearted mercenary _ ring through his mind despite his easy tone. So often he has said it like a badge of honour. But just as often did it leave the taste of bile in the back of his mouth, burning his throat with the meaning behind those words. 

“_Don't_,” Evelyn orders with a harsh whisper, “don't do that. You wouldn't be here if you were, Kurt. You said so yourself.”

The words pull him up short. When they’re thrown back at him in this context, he’s not sure which he prefers: the familiar poison of his self worth, or the shame at how easily she was able to cut it off at it’s head. 

“I guess I deserved that,” he says eventually, tossing the small towel over his shoulder. 

Evelyn gives an affirming hum, clutching the closed razor in one hand. She watches with the same intensity she pours into even the simplest of tasks as he busies himself rather than keep watching her, once again set off track by her keen perception. Sometimes he’s so sure she'll blurt his innermost thoughts aloud, rather than allow him the grace she gives—especially where she is involved. 

Not many in her position would lend such a kindness, he knows.

She truly is fascinating. 

The rhythm as he works his soap into a lather is a calming one. It's tedious and repetitive, but it keeps his focus from traveling back to her as he starts brushing it onto his face.

“Kurt.”

He steadfastly ignores the soft huff of her amusement.

“_Kurt_.”

He looks up at her and she breaks into an infectious bout of giggles.

“Stop,” she chokes in between fits of the breathless laughter, “Kurt, _ stop_, you’ve got—” 

She doesn’t finish but instead leans in close, taking the brush from his hand with one hand and wipes at the tip of his nose with the other. 

“_There_,” she says, her lips pressed together as if to keep herself from smiling.

“Apparently I'm in need of your assistance even before it comes to the actual shaving,” he groans.

It is very much a losing battle as she bites back another grin, and raises the brush to his face, circling through his beard.

“It's a good thing you asked for my help, it would've been a lot harder for me to sit there doing nothing as you struggled at it alone.”

“Yes, I would've finally made you face your greatest weakness; doing nothing in the face of incompetence,” Kurt hums, smirking at the derisive noise she makes in response.

“Such wit from the man who cannot shave his own face.” 

Evelyn leans back and puts the brush down, and he catches the brief flicker of doubt as she picks up the blade.

“Stop overthinking it,” Kurt softly tells her, pulling it from her grasp. 

She shoots him an exasperated wither of a glare as he opens it, silently stroking it through the air as if it were as simple as another lesson demonstration. Evelyn watches carefully, and then gives the barest of nods before she holds out her open hand.

He flips the razor in his hand and places the handle into her awaiting palm. Kurt can’t resist watching her as she tests the heft of it, her brows quirking as she mimics his hold and the small sharp motions. Evelyn shifts up onto her knees, hovering over him as she brings the straight edge to his skin.

She pulls away before even making her first attempt. 

“Green Blood—”

“_Hush_,” she lightly cuts him off, her eyes darting between the knife and away. 

There’s an audible intake of breath from her before she meets his eyes, and lifts herself forward. There is very little he can comprehend as she swings her legs over his own, bracketing his hips as she plants herself in his lap. 

It gets incredibly difficult to breathe, very quickly. 

“_Evelyn— _” 

“The angle is better,” she hurriedly says, her eyes trained down by his shoulder. 

He can’t find any words to protest and he can barely nod his assent as he clears his throat, “of course.”

Kurt has no idea what to do with his hands. They hover over her hips, her thighs, unsure and wavering as she tilts his head up. She bites her lip in concentration as she touches her fingers to his cheekbone, as warm and as _ soft _ as he has endlessly imagined as she gingerly stretches his skin, scraping the blade in a short swipe just below his temple and down along the front of his ear.

There’s a heavy pause before she deflates. A shiver runs up his spine as the breath she was holding caresses his ear as she chuckles and shakes her head, an embarrassed tinge to her cheeks as she wipes the excess across the towel. 

“After all that fuss, too,” he muses.

“I _ am _ still holding this, Kurt, you do realise?”

“I trust you,” he breathes, much too soft for her playful tone.

Her eyes flick to his for just a moment before she brings the blade back to his skin.

This close, he is entranced. He doesn’t think he’s ever noticed the gold-like flecks in her eyes before. It was just as likely he wasn’t looking close enough—or he _ had _and refused to acknowledge it.

He lowers his hands without thought, and feels the material of her pants and stiffens, his breath catching in his throat as he fights not to clutch at her thighs. 

“Are you alright?” she whispers, panicked, her hand frozen in it’s current path. 

“Yes,” the word comes out strangled. She starts to pull back and he squeezes her thighs, drawing in an uneven breath, “it’s fine. Keep going.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“You certainly couldn’t leave me half-shaved if I wasn’t,” he tries to recover, determinedly thinking of anything other than the pooling of heat in his lap, “I’d be a laughing stock.”

“I’d never let that happen,” she says softly.

A heady silence descends over them, broken only by the sounds of their quiet breathing and the blade scraping across his face. 

Up his cheek.

Around his chin.

Along his jaw.

She’s like a beacon, shining and bright through the darkness—and he is fixated by it. _ Powerless_. Well and truly, with each shift of her body as she presses closer in concentration. Her hand is a searing brand splayed along his neck and jaw, and he is a willing hostage to the touch of her soft question and firm command with each and every instance she tilts his head and holds him in place. 

“I don't know why you were nervous, you've obviously done this before,” he gently teases.

“I'll ask them to amend it to my title, shall I? Evelyn De…” she trails off, and her jaw clenches for just a moment before she lets out a bitter snort, “Evelyn _ De Sardet_, Legate of the Merchant Congregation, on ol menawi, expert of unnecessary hair removal.”

“You know, I'm sure I remember you complaining about unnecessary hair removal back in Sérène.” 

“That's a little different, I fear. Imagine hot wax ripping the hair from its roots,” she proposes, with far too much glee when she catches his dawning horror. 

Kurt winces, staring in dismay, “and you _ voluntarily _subject yourself to that?”

Evelyn pulls a face, her nose scrunching at the question, “not entirely. But thankfully there's been less of a call for it here.”

“Why keep it up at all?” 

She lifts the blade from his skin and pauses, and levels him with a heated look as she speaks, never once looking away, “because smooth legs feel _ amazing_, Kurt.”

He can’t stop the flex of his hands as he imagines how hers would feel.

The twist to her lips is something he has seen before. A look of _ victory_. 

Kurt swallows, and there is nothing more that he wants than to forget himself. 

He could.

He_ could_.

It would be the easiest thing, lost as he is in her eyes and her body pressed against his.

He could lean in and finally close the ever aching distance between them, let his lips part with his unspoken _ almost _ of a confession and speak of them in a different way, with the way of action he was more comfortable with. Rather than words, quiet first kisses by the fireside, gentle and deserving of her. 

_ He could_.

His eyelids are heavy as he takes her in. Kurt's lips part as he draws a shaky inhale, and he feels her fingers twitch on his jaw and neck, sliding into a caress—

A rustle breaks from the camp.

Their attentions snap to it. Vasco shifts in his sleep, repositioning and blindly groping as he pulls his blanket up his body.

Kurt lets out the breath he was holding. His heart pounds in his chest as he turns back to Evelyn, but her focus solely on their friend. In her distraction his eyes track over her mark, tracing the slow and inexplicable creeping path it's etched across her now-clenched jaw. 

Another _ almost_. 

“I'll have to take your word for it,” he murmurs, fumbling helplessly for a tone that’s nonchalant, “and to think I’ve been calling you dainty all these years. I doubt any soldier would be glad to suffer through that.”

She turns back with a pleased smirk, but whatever courage he managed to wrestle together has already slipped from his grasp.

He tears his eyes away, lowering his head.

Kurt recoils when his gaze follows the path before him, into her billowing shirt and along the dark fabric of her breast band, the curve of her breasts.

He tries to look back towards Vasco when a deft finger hooks under his chin, turning his face back up to her.

“Keep still,” Evelyn breathes.

Kurt swallows as she holds him in place. 

The razor drags up his exposed throat.

A few more strokes.

Evelyn closes the blade with a steady exhale, tossing it onto the bedroll as she pulls the cloth from his shoulder. Her movements are gentle as she wipes away any remaining lines of soap, before she drops that, too.

“_There_,” she whispers.

Evelyn's fingers trace down his skin, lingering along his throat and curling at the notch of his neck.

_ Not yet. _

There's a fire burning behind her eyes, and Kurt doesn't want to look away. 

_ Not here. _

Her lips part and her breath hits his lips as she starts to lean in.

_ Not like this. _

Kurt can _ feel _ the whisper of her lips against his own and yet Evelyn pauses at his tiny unconscious shift of movement, her eyes dart from his lips to his eyes.

And then flicker shut as she leans away.

His hands tighten on her thighs and he fights to get his voice to work again.

“Thank you for your assistance, Green Blood.”

The nickname causes her jaw to work for a quiet moment before she can seem to face him, but her eyes remain glued around his shoulder.

“Whenever you need, Kurt,” she says, and even with the underlying meaning, his gut sinks with the sad smile she shoots him, “I mean that.”

Her hands fall to his, gently squeezing in promise as she slides them off her legs, before she stands and returns to her own bedroll.

Its all he can do not to think on the tightness in his lungs, or the apology stuck on his tongue.

“You should get some rest,” he says instead, “I can finish my watch alone.”

“Alright,” she nods without argument or even a mild _ are you sure? _

“Evelyn…”

She stops in her shifting to get comfortable, turning on her side towards him. “Kurt?”

“I'm sorry.”

“Whenever you need, Kurt,” she repeats softly, “you don't need to apologise.”

Her eyes flutter shut, and it isn't long before she's claimed by sleep.

Kurt goes about clearing his kit away. Alone, his head is filled with circling jeers and doubts, slowly crushing down on him. _ What had she read in his face? _He had so many chances, and he still could not find it in himself to take that leap of faith. His mind is starting to spiral when there's another rustle from Vasco, followed by a heavy sigh.

“You know, sometimes I don't understand how you both haven’t gotten your act together,” he tiredly grumbles, "but then something like this happens. And I'm reminded with startling clarity."

Kurt grits his teeth. 

“How much of that did you hear, sailor?”

“...I heard enough,” Vasco eventually replies.

“You've been awake the whole time.”

It's not a question.

“I don't imagine it would make you feel any better to know just how much I wish I _ hadn't _ been?”

“I hate you so much,” he lightly groans.

Vasco just laughs.

Kurt runs a hand over his now-smooth face, and swears he will tell her as soon as this business is taken care of.

_ Soon. _

He will tell her soon.

After everything, he owes her that much.


End file.
